


Jazz

by TheFirstAcolyte (DocStrunk)



Series: Where You've Been [1]
Category: Psionics: The Next Stage in Human Evolution (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Original Character(s), Psionics, Racism, Revenge, pyrokinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocStrunk/pseuds/TheFirstAcolyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a whole lot of slurs in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz

Rick Lei was running at full speed away from Jake Hense and his asshole friends, once again. Rick was pretty quick, for a smoker, but unfortunately Jake and said asshole friends had all been members of the track and field team in high school and one semester of shitty beer and shittier classes at Suffolk County Community College hadn’t made them any slower. Or less of a pack of assholes. He had really thought that this bullshit would be over when these douchefuck assholes finally fucking graduated from Kings Park High School, but Rick supposed that was a lot to ask from this yuppie-infested hellhole that was more commonly called “Long Island.”

“We’re gonna kill you, you freak faggot!” A non-racial slur. Maybe community college was finally improving Jake’s vocabulary. “I’m gonna break your fucking face, you chink faggot!” Ah, yes. There was the Jake that Rick knew and hated with every fiber of his being. “I’m gonna rip your fucking dick off and shove it up your rice-nigger ass!”

Rick tried to make his legs move faster through sheer force of will. Their bellowing was getting worryingly closer. Jake and his asshole friends were at least consistent and “rice-nigger” meant that Jake was feeling especially violent. Last time he had used that particular gem, he’d fractured three of Rick’s ribs. That had been last year, when Jake had still been a senior. The principle hadn’t done shit about it, of course. His advice to Rick had been to “just ignore it and, trust me Richard, getting the police involved will only makes things harder.” None of these yuppie cunts cared about anyone who wasn’t white, rich, and Catholic.

Rick ran past the identical houses with their identical fences and identical residents. He would have hopped a fence and cut across a yard or two, but then he’d have to deal with Jake and his goons _and_ the cops. He’d learned that the hard way. He fucking hated Long Island. This was so fucking unfair. Jake and his asshole friends had been hanging out in the parking lot outside of the school, which wasn’t pathetic at all or anything. Rick had just been trying to get to his car and one of those dicks had thrown a fucking bottle of piss at him. How fucking long had he been sitting in Jake’s car with it?

It had been too much. Two fucking year of abuse. Two fucking years of “Ching chang ching chong” and “Licky Rei” and the pranks and the ass beatings and all of the other shit that the administration did fucking nothing about and now it was happening even though _they weren’t even supposed to be on the premises_. _Because they had graduated._ Bull. Shit. Rick was done.

As they howled with laughter, Rick had gone up to his car and opened the trunk. He had reached a state of cold, calm, bitter, rage that he hadn’t experienced before. He took out his toolbox, which he wasn’t even supposed to have on school grounds because god knows that if you let a teen have a screwdriver he’ll be making bombs and traumatizing all of these spoiled assholes by reminding them that manual labor is a thing and so on. Fluidly, gracefully, and with all the force he could muster, he threw it right at Jake’s fucking head. Unfortunately, the windshield of the SUV his daddy had bought him was in the way and it wrecked that instead of giving Jake some well-deserved facial restructuring. The box flew open and his tools were sent sprawling across the lot. The shocked silence was the most beautiful and sweet thing Rick had ever experienced up until that point. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought to unlock his car before doing that and Jake motherfucking Hense and his motherfucking asshole friends were lunging out of Jake’s yuppie short bus at and him. There was no time to get in his car. The piece of shit lock stuck half the time too, so Rick didn’t have much choice but to run like Hell.

And here they all were now. Some incredibly stupid and panicked part of him told him, as he approached the 7-11, that running into the alley behind it would be a good idea. For whatever reason, he did just that and was immediately reminded that the alley behind this particular 7-11 was, and always had been, a dead end with nothing in it but a disgusting and old metal dumpster. He swore to himself. It wasn’t even that he couldn’t fight, he just couldn’t fight four people at once. _It’s too public for them to kill me._ Christ, did every 16-year-old have to deal with this shit?

Rick turned to face the goons and backed further into the alley. There was a fence, but they’d gotten too close. They’d have him on the ground in a second if he tried for it. He wasn’t scared. He was furious.

“Too fucking scared to fight me by yourself, bitch?” Jake, whose face was already a mask of stupid, apelike, rage, didn’t like those words one bit.

“You dropped this, rice-faggot.” Jake held up Rick’s hammer. _Well, that changes things._ Rick was dimly aware that he shouldn’t be running his mouth, but it didn't really seem to matter anymore. If he was going to get stomped anyway, he may as well get his money's worth.

“Are you mad about me fucking your mom, Jake? Is that what this is about? Or are you mad that your mom stopped blowing you after you finally got pubes? Either way, stop being a bitch about it, bitch.” Rick liked this new confidence. He hoped to survive long enough to see it again.

“Shut your faggot mouth, _FAGGOT!”_

“Kill yourself, Jake.”

The world seemed to come to a crawl. In slow motion, Jake pulled his arm back to throw the hammer and a strange feeling came over Rick. He felt relaxed. Good even. Contentment and satisfaction filled him just as Jake began to bring his arm forward and one of his goons moved towards him. Then the crotch of Jake’s gym shorts burst into flames.

Jake screamed in confusion and pain. The throw turned into a wide, aimless, swing. The goon who had started moving toward Rick took it full in the back of the head and crumpled to the ground. Blood was leaking out of his ears. Another one of Jake’s asshole friends instinctively backed away from the chaos, slipped in a puddle, and slammed the back of his head into the dumpster. He lay on the ground, moaning and trying to hold a massive gash in his scalp closed. The third goon moved towards Jake, as if to help put out the fire. Before he could do anything, a sparrow flew out of fucking nowhere and into his eye. The bird fell to the ground and the goon didn’t even have time to react before the hawk that had apparently been hunting said sparrow swooped in and raked his face with its talons. The bird shrieking angrily and clumsily flapped away. Jake managed to get the shorts off and curled up on the ground, hands cupping his now exposed junk, as his friend sunk to his knees with his hands over his eyes. Blood poured out from under his hands as he let out an ungodly shriek. Rick didn’t feel relaxed anymore. He couldn’t do anything other than gape at the scene in front of him. The goons were all on the ground. The guy who had been attacked by the birds was sobbing and the guy who had hit his head was unsettlingly quiet now. The guy who had taken the hammer to the skull hadn't moved at all. Jake was curled up in the fetal position, whimpering. What the fuck had just happened? Should he feel bad? He _didn’t,_ that was for damn sure. Rick wondered if he was experiencing some kind of concussion-induced hallucination and was actually getting the life stomped out of him.

“Um…Lemme call you back.” Rick looked past his four would be attackers and noticed a guy at the entrance to the alley, closing a flip phone. He was tall, with dark skin and short, purple, hair. He shoved the phone into his ratty overcoat pocket and looked down at the four on the ground, seeming surprised but not particularly bothered. Then he looked up at Rick. Then down at the four again. Then up at Rick again. He pursed his lips and nodded, seemingly in approval. “Nice.” _Nice?_

“What’s all that screaming?!” Shit, the clerk must have heard. The guy ran to Rick, sidestepping the goons, and grabbed his arm.

“You need to come with me _now_.” Rick wasn’t in a state to do much of anything to resist and the guy had a hell of a grip. Not that Rick was terribly fond of the idea of staying there, surrounded by grievously injured people whom he openly disliked. The guy half lead, half dragged Rick to a small parking lot across from the alley and shoved him into an SUV with tinted windows. The guy drove over the curb and pulled onto the road. It seemed like distance was his main priority. As they drove, Rick noticed that every light they hit was green. He didn’t think much of it at first, he wasn’t thinking much at all, but he could swear that one went from green to yellow back to green as they approached it. After another minute it happened again. Then a light that had just turned red turned green. _Am I dying? Is this what dying is like?_

“Oh, no, no, no. Are you doing that on purpose, by the way? Thank you.” Rick slowly turned his head and stared at the guy. _I didn’t say anything…_

“…Doing what on purpose?” The guy nodded his head, like he had just realized something.

“Ooooooooooh. Got it. I just kind of assumed that you knew…Never mind.” There was a pause as the guy seemed to consider what to say. “Look…Richard. Sorry, Rick—“

“How do you know my name?” It had since set in that he might be blamed for what happened, but the panic hadn’t caught up with him yet. No one would fucking believe what happened. Rick still wasn’t entirely sure that this was real life.

“I’ll get to that in a sec.” He sounded casual as could be. “Listen—“

“Where are we going?” It wasn’t like Rick had any idea what to do, but that still seemed like an important piece of information.

“In a sec! Anyway, I know this is weird, but you’re not the only one who can…do what you did.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“Buddy, you set a dude’s dick on fire. There’s no need to be coy.”

“I didn’t do that, it just happened!” There was another pause. “That _did_ happen?” The guy nodded sympathetically. “Oh, fffffffffffffffffuck me…” Rick collapsed back into the seat. What the fuck was going on? Maybe this guy was a hallucination too. Maybe he would just wake up in the hospital.

“Oh, you’re _very_ new, aren’t you? Very, _very_ , new. Hmm. I was just gonna ask, but…” The guy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel lightly as they turned onto the Long Island Expressway. “Hey, what song would you like to hear on the radio right now?”

“…What?” What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Also, Long Island radio sucked thirty-seven flavors of dick on a good day.

“I know, I know. Just answer the question.” The guy seemed excited. Playful, even.

“I don’t fuckin’…” He threw his hands up. _Fuck it._ “Boss Hoss by The Sonics.”

“Never heard of it.” The guy turned on the radio. Rick recognized the station number as one of Long Island’s many indistinguishable pop stations. Boss Hoss by The Sonics was playing. “Is this that?” Rick nodded. _Wat?_ “Okay, what else would you like to hear on the radio?”

“…Code Blue by T.S.O.L.” There was no way that would be on.

“Good choice.” The guy hit scan and stopped it on the first station. Code Blue by T.S.O.L. was playing. On a soft rock station. The guy seemed pleased. “Ahh, I knew it! You lucky bastard! Oh, and you wanna know how I knew your name?”

“Yeah?” The guy smiled widely, his lips tightly closed.

“Cuz I can do this!” Rick’s eyes must have looked like saucers. The guy had talked. He had heard him speak. If he’d thrown his voice, then his Adam’s apple would have moved or something. But it hadn’t. But he had spoken.

The glove box fell open. There was nothing in it but an open pack of cigarettes. Rick moved to close it, but one of the cigs pulled itself out of the box and levitated into the guy’s lips. Rick’s eyes were glued to the guy as he pointed the cigarette upwards with his lips. A small flame appeared on the tip, out of nowhere. It disappeared after he had a light. _I am dead. I am dead or dying and my dead or dying brain is freaking out._ The guy, still as calm as could be, started chatting with him like nothing was wrong.

“My name is Rajiv, by the way. Most people call me Prism. Or Raj.” Rick had no idea how to respond. “You’re not crazy, by the way. Do you think you are? A lot of people think they are, at first. I did…. Oh, yeah. You totally do. Stop that, you’re fine.”

“Take me ho—“

“Oh! Hang on, sorry!” The guy named Prism pulled out his flip phone and dialed. Presumably it was the person he was talking to earlier because they picked up on the first ring. “Yo! Guess what IIIIIIIIII goooooooot?” Rick wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that. “Yeah…Yeah…I’ll show you soon, I’m driving right now. Are you still at the thing? Okay, good…A Wizard, I think.” _Wizards aren’t real._ “Maybe even a Fixer…. I-I don’t know, JJ… Yeah, nice guy. Kinda jumpy.” Prism looked at Rick sympathetically and mouthed “not Judging” before going back to the conversation on the phone “Name’s Rick… No! That’s the crazy part! I just _walked by_ him… _Nope._ I still have all of my candy. I had nothing to do with it…I know right? Fingers crossed for a Fixer, dude. Fingers crossed… Okay, cool. See you soon!”

Rick opened his mouth to speak, but what the fuck was he even going to say? After a moment, he gave up trying to think of something. Prism cleared his throat. Something gave Rick the impression that this was a situation he’d dealt with before.

“Do you like New York City?” It took Rick a beat to register what he’d said.

“What?”

“That’s where we’re going and, you know, it’ll be nicer if you like it there.”

“Why…?”

“My friend is going to show you how to do that thing you did earlier. On purpose. The fire, not the sync. She can’t do that. Neither can I, by the way.” _What the hell is sync?_

“…I’m still not sure that any of that happened.”

“Totally normal! It’s okay. It’s totally normal.” A beat passed. ‘To be freaked out, I mean! What we do is…well, it’s normal for people like us, but pretty not normal for…um…pretty much everyone else.” What did he mean by “people like us?” “Look, I have to be honest. I don’t want to scare you, but you’re not going to be able to come back here. For a long time, probably.”

“I can’t be on Long Island?”

“No, I’m sorry. I know that that’s—“

“It’s whatever. It’s fine.” _It’s the best fucking news I’ve heard all day._ Prism laughed.

“I think you’re gonna be okay, Rick.” He smiled at Rick. He seemed genuinely happy. “I think you’re gonna be fine.”


End file.
